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I believe Not more in God's word than in yours; and this Not for your station's sake, nor yet your fame's, How high soe'er the wind of war have blown The splendour of your standard: but, my lord, Your face and heart and speech, being one, require Of any not base-born and servile-souled Faith: and my faith I give you.
Algernon Charles Swinburne -
She hath wasted with fire thine high places,She hath hidden and marred and made sadThe fair limbs of the Loves, the fair facesOf gods that were goodly and glad.She slays, and her hands are not bloody;She moves as a moon in the wane,White-robed, and thy raiment is ruddy,Our Lady of Pain.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name.
Algernon Charles Swinburne -
Not from without us, only from within, Comes or can ever come upon us light Whereby the soul keeps ever truth in sight. No truth, no strength, no comfort man may win, No grace for guidance, no release from sin, Save of his own soul's giving.
Algernon Charles Swinburne -
God by God flits past in thunder, till His glories turn to shades; God to God bears wondering witness how His gospel flames and fades. More was each of these, yet they were, than man their servant seemed: Dead are all of these, and man survives who made them while he dreamed.
Algernon Charles Swinburne -
Fear that makes faith may break faith; and a fool Is but in folly stable.
Algernon Charles Swinburne